


Adrift

by spacehopper, winternacht



Series: Sea Glass [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Mind Link, Mind Meld, Oral Sex, Reunion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: He had waited so long for his arrival, and now that Jon was finally here, Elias struggled to muster any of the elation he knew he should feel, whispers of emotions so easily drowned out by the waves, leaving only a bare fact to cling to: he’d won the bet.Elias is trapped in a place where the Eye can't reach. But Jon can.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Series: Sea Glass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683745
Comments: 9
Kudos: 126





	Adrift

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to All Your Hard Edges, Sharpened. Thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed the first part of the series! <3

The tape recorder clicked on, and Elias failed to speak.

Once, he might’ve smiled ruefully, to find himself in such a position. Sat upon a rock on some storm-swept Scottish coast, or at least the approximation of one; he’d lost enough sight to no longer have the certainty that this was not some conjuration of Peter’s dull imagination. Left here to scan the ocean, whilst the wind played mournful harmonies along the sheer face of the cliff. Before that too was lost in the mist.

He drew in a breath, and the waves roared as he exhaled, making clear how pointless it would be to voice any sound of his own. But habit was as constant as the sea, dragging his arm down to reach for the salt-kissed plastic and setting it on his lap. There he left it, fingers grazing the buttons but failing to strike, as his gaze drifted back to the empty horizon, and he waited for a moon that would never rise.

Time flowed strangely here, at once a surging current, only to falter and drift into swirling eddies. He’d had knowledge enough to expect it, but watchful eyes and a desperate letter could not convey its full impact. The bitter irony was enough to make him smile, to remember old Barnabas’s pleas, which had fallen on his own ears and been summarily dismissed. He wondered if Peter knew what his ancestor had done, what Elias had allowed in another life. But that memory too had become as faded and worn as the pebbles that dotted the shores.

And so when he heard the clatter of lost footing on shifting stones, the cut-off expletive swallowed by the wind, he could not say how long it had been since he’d come down to the beach. Nor could he find it in himself to assign any significance to the intrusion, even as the tape recorder warmed under his hand, and the waves carried away the sound of his name.

But sight was harder to mask even now, and when a dark shadow blocked his view, how could he not look up to meet eyes as stormy as the sea?

“What are you doing?”

It took Elias a few moments to parse the question, less focused on the words Jon had spoken than on the pitch and timbre of his voice, the shape of the vowels and too crisp consonants. How appropriate, that it was the Archivist who ended up cutting through the monotony of the never-changing soundscape with such sharp familiarity.

“I was waiting for you.” He tasted the salt in the air as he spoke, let his words scatter in the wind. They seemed to resonate within Jon, his severe expression softening, and he sank to the ground in front of him before Elias could rise.

“So was I,” Jon said quietly, edging closer. “But then the tapes stopped working, and I… I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Jon leaned into Elias’s space, setting a hand on his shoulder and bowing forward for a kiss, his warm tongue pushing against the barrier of Elias’s unmoving lips. The wind whipped a lock of his hair against Elias’s face as Jon held the position, his mouth brushing Elias’s cheek as Elias turned his face and stood.

He had waited so long for his arrival, and now that Jon was finally here, Elias struggled to muster any of the elation he knew he should feel, whispers of emotions so easily drowned out by the waves, leaving only a bare fact to cling to: he’d won the bet.

“I’m coming back now,” he said and turned his back to the sea. The cottage was still within sight, but the path to it seemed to stretch further towards the hill. Hadn’t the rock been just outside the door, back when he’d arrived? It didn’t matter anymore; this was the last time he’d have to return to it. “But you have to show me the way.”

There was no answer, only merciless crashing of waves, the clang of a bell that rang for no one. The wind wended its way into his ears, skittered across his face until all warmth Jon had tried to force into him was stolen once more. Leaving him alone again, to stare into the distance. Until he heard a sigh behind him, and the heavy tread of ill-fitting boots.

“I can’t find the exit.” Fingers tugged helplessly at his sleeve. “Because I haven’t found you yet.” A plea echoed, cutting through the unrelenting wind.

A ghost of a memory of a smile nearly graced his lips, a wry warmth not yet recollected, but not completely forgotten. Enough to turn him towards Jon, to find eyes more vivid than anything he’d seen in a lifetime looking into him. Part of him wanted to turn back into the wind, craving the certainty of its cold embrace. Loneliness was a familiar companion, from long before he’d met Jon, if never his greatest love. But there was enough left of who he’d become to struggle against the impulse. To let Jon cradle his cheek as Elias finally found the words he knew should’ve come to him sooner.

“Ah. You really have grown, haven’t you?” There was something else he should say, to feed the hunger barely contained by those dark eyes. Phrases he still might find, if he clung to what he had: the sharp edge of Jon’s elbow, a lifeline to pull him through this storm, to the cottage that approached them. As it should; Jon had seen it.

“And you haven’t changed at all,” Jon muttered. Clearly trying for irritation as he took Elias’s hand, stumbling instead into a hope buoyed by fear, as if words alone could make the statement true. As if his iron grip, threaded through Elias’s fingers, would be enough to haul him ashore.

The door creaked when Jon opened it, Elias noted with a distant surprise. It hadn’t done that in a while. And the cushions too had changed, dull blue-grey brightening into a vibrant azure, setting off the rather tacky navy anchors emblazoned on them. Jon pushed him onto the sofa, sitting beside him as Elias began to stroke the fabric, fingers catching on the rough whorls of the canvas. Stopping only when Jon put a hand on his, gripped it, and raised it to his lips.

He stared at it quizzically for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure of his own intent. Which seemed par for the course for Jon, an observation that struck with a stinging familiarity. Brows furrowing in concentration, he turned the hand palm up to press heated lips to Elias’s skin.

Elias’s fingers twitched upwards, lightly grazing Jon’s cheek, before lapsing back into stillness. Jon made a small noise of frustration, nipping the base of his thumb while glaring up at Elias. The spark of pain was enough to make Elias blink, and his lips parted to make a comment that died before he could voice it. Jon sighed, and let Elias’s palm fall to his lap, covering it with his other hand as he worried at his own lip.

“I thought I could…” He flushed, and Elias could imagine what he’d thought. An idea that should delight him, would have delighted him, had it not been worn smooth by the gentle assault of solitude, eroded by wind and water and shifting sand into another driftwood fragment. “But no, that’s not how this works, is it? I have to…” He met Elias’s eyes. “You owe me an answer.”

Elias’s tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, caught on the edge of speech and silence. Fingernails dug into his hand, carving indents into smooth skin, signs of presence Elias found he had to heed, that he wanted to heed, as the sudden warmth began to spread. “Then ask a question.”

The atmosphere around them grew electric in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, sparking across his nerves as Jon demanded his attention. The whirring of the tape recorder swallowed the sounds from outside. “Why are you here?”

Elias barely had time to draw a breath before the answer started forming on his lips. “A simple wager between Peter and me. I had asked a favour too many; he needed free rein over the Institute. Only on the condition that he would keep it safe, of course,” he added when Jon’s expression darkened.

“He didn’t seem particularly invested in that,” Jon muttered.

“Didn’t?”

“I found him,” Jon said, the deeper meaning behind his words carried by the tone of his voice, and Elias felt a surge of pride. “He told me about that wager. And he told me you’ve as good as won. Once I…”

“Once you find me,” Elias said, a smile pulling at his lips.

“You should have told me,” Jon said quietly. “I know you were watching. I know you knew I could hear you. But then you just… stopped. And if I hadn’t found this place…”

“But you did find it. And I always knew you would, one day.” As he spoke the words, he knew it had been true. Was still true. Perhaps a foolish risk, to act on hunch and supposition, anticipating an outcome only based on his knowledge of the past. His knowledge of Jon. His affection for Jon, which Peter saw as a weakness, one he was more than happy to exploit for his own ends. But Peter had always been short sighted. Elias had never doubted his Archivist, who always surpassed his expectations. Who now soaked up every one of his words so eagerly and wordlessly demanded more. The fondness that welled up in his chest ached so sweetly, and he listened to Jon suck in a sharp breath in response.

“You told me once that nobody could ever lie to me again,” Jon said. “But you’re not telling me the whole truth, aren’t you? That wager...it’s not the only reason you’ve come here, is it?”

He shifted, curling a leg onto the sofa, his knee pressed against Elias’s thigh. His weight bowed the cushion, bringing Elias ever closer. But not close enough to stifle the plaintive note when Jon drew in a shaky breath, and asked the question Elias had been waiting for, the question he still dreaded. “Why did you leave me?”

“A blade sheathed will never taste blood. A ship will find nothing unless it weighs anchor.” He bit his lip, tasting iron and salt as he resisted the tidal force of Jon’s compulsion. Was it simply habit, that even now he held back? Or the caution of centuries, impossible to discard even as Jon leaned closer, his fingers digging into Elias’s thigh.

“Why?” Jon said, so insistent Elias gasped, his vision filled with nothing but Jon’s eyes, and in them was everything, and forever. Terror and longing spilling forth finally to coat his eager tongue.

“This is my final wager. On it rests the prize I have sought for longer than you know. I left you because it is everything. And I am so very close to winning. You are not the prize, but you are the key. A tool, to open the door. But a key poorly cut will stick, maybe even break. If I had stayed, you would have no chance. Even now, you still aren’t ready.”

“That’s all it is?” His voice was quiet, devoid of compulsion. “Peter seemed so convinced you…” The hurt in Jon’s eyes was expected, still too human, too vulnerable. As keen as he was, not all imperfections could be ground away. This one might shatter them both.

But the compulsion returned. Elias had not yet said his last.

“You want me to say you are more than that. Do you think I can still lie to you?”

Outside, the sky had begun to darken, bright points of light cutting through the mist. A thousand hungry eyes fixed on them, as Jon inhaled, and breathed out what they both knew to be true, “No.”

“Then ask me another question.”

“What am I, to you?”

How easily would this answer have come to him, had Jon posed the question months or years ago. How effortlessly would he have employed the skill he’d honed for two centuries — weaving truths into a shroud. He’d survived this long by hiding his name and his ambitions while peeling away layers of obfuscation and self-denial other people cowered beneath to drink in the ugly truths of the world. Not only to share them with his master but also to use them, stretch them, toy with them at his convenience. To deceive, when deception was so very much against the Eye’s nature. And to relish the pain truth brought when unleashed to its fullest extent.

“You are more than a tool to me,” he began. “More than a choice I don’t regret.”

Jon's gaze remained on Elias, even as the flicker of hope in his eyes guttered. “That… that doesn’t mean any—“

“More than just my Archivist.” Elias leaned forward, pulled by Jon’s power, letting it ensnare him. “More than the pinnacle of two centuries’ work. More than my most wonderful creation.”

He cupped Jon’s cheek, looking deep into his eyes. “More than I can put into words. Jon.” He took a deep breath. And let Jon in.

The deluge was expected, but expectation was not enough to weather the crash of Jon against the shores of his mind. Eroding careful barriers erected long ago, constructs to ward off less worthy Archivists, and others who might pry at secrets Elias was loath to part with. Walls that had only been enhanced by the subtle cunning of this empty realm, constructing breakwaters even as it tore away the piers. They were no match for Jon, who surged over them, the spray of his bright mind scattering insights Elias had too long been severed from.

He saw flashes of Peter leaving abruptly after Jon had torn him from the Lonely, Martin in tow. Betraying the Institute, it seemed, if it weren't for Jon's faith that he knew what he was doing. Faith Elias did not share, knowing as he did that love was a double-edged sword, that might yet be turned on Jon should Martin deem it necessary for his own good. One to watch, but that was for later, for Elias’s gaze was already caught on the statements gathered from countless people, each time with less regret, stronger and bolder than before as Jon blossomed without him. Into a man and more than a man that Elias was eager to know and know again.

Jon whimpered as he wormed his hungry way into Elias’s mind, trickling into dark corners and bone-dry coves, collecting centuries of terror and suffering, only to drag it back into himself, shaking with the effort of understanding it. He would not be able to realize its true form, not yet, and it was almost a pity, to know that they must play this game a bit longer. That he was not ready to be everything Elias had dreamed, and more than he could have envisioned, not a simple pawn but someday a partner, who might yet understand him. And be understood in turn.

But that did not mean there was no joy to be had in sharing, to relish the way Jon’s mouth opened eagerly under his, as Elias pressed him onto the sofa, and felt the warmth of Jon’s body under his. His skin prickled and stung as he slipped his hands under Jon’s shirt, as he flooded himself with the sensation of all that Jon was, human body and inhuman mind, an existence he mirrored. As his world sharpened anew, he listened and heard the call of a distant gull nearly lost under the crescendo of the tape recorder.

And finally opened his eyes.

To see himself, staring down with hunger he’d forgotten, to feel his own fingers brush his lips. Vision twinned with the eyes he’d lost, the eyes that had found them, dangerous and all the more precious for it. Knowing that he could once again extend his gaze far beyond the confines of this cottage, but finding no need for far flung sights and places. In Jon’s eyes, he knew forgotten freedom again.

Jon’s breathing grew heavy, the flow of his consciousness into Elias slowing to a trickle, blurring his thoughts and perceptions into abstract impressions that lingered on the edge of Elias’s mind. The ever-present hunger, quieted but not sated, never sated; the push and pull between curiosity and horror; and above all the longing for closeness, sharpened by a fresh fear of loss, into which the remnants of the Lonely could hook so easily. But Elias had no intention of letting Jon go, of falling deeper into the chill embrace of Forsaken.

“I know you,” Jon said. “I don’t quite—” He floundered, fingers working until Elias grabbed them, anchoring Jon. “I can’t quite understand it all yet. But you feel...right. Why is that?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we wait and see?”

Elias leaned down again and kissed Jon, long and deep, tasting the questions that still burned on his lips. But that was for another time. He was eager to revitalise memories that had been bleached out by wind and salt, to create new ones to cherish. And to take the time to relearn the reactions of Jon’s body, the quiet gasp when Elias buried a hand in his hair. The little shiver that went through him when Elias placed his lips against Jon’s neck, tilting his head to the side and meeting no resistance.

Jon’s pulse raced under his lips, his body thrumming with the new life he'd chosen after the End's touch. Elias smiled against Jon’s skin before starting to suck a mark into it, giving a contented sigh when Jon’s hands tightened in his shirt, his knuckles pressing against Elias’s back. Jon’s hips bucked against him when Elias let up to place a soft kiss on the mark, so delightfully needy, already half-hard.

Jon made a soft noise of protest when Elias slipped out of his grasp, and dropped to his knees in front of Jon. Connected as they were, it only took a glancing thought of desire for Jon’s eyes to widen, flush spreading across the span of chest revealed by his half-unbuttoned shirt. He scrambled to sit up and slide closer to Elias, eyes never leaving him as Elias unfastened Jon’s trousers and placed a steadying hand on his knee. Without breaking that perfect connection between them, Elias freed Jon’s half-hard cock, leaning forward to gently take it between his lips.

The angle was awkward for watching, made more so by the fingers Jon wound through Elias’s hair, steering him with all the skill of a novice helmsman. Still, his enthusiasm was gratifying to behold, his cock filling along the length of Elias’s tongue, his hips stuttering when Elias swallowed around him.

But Elias wanted more, not just the brief glimpses eyes could bring, but the insight granted only by their patron. He relaxed his throat, and let Jon move into him, even as Elias did the same, slipping behind his eyes again. Jon felt it, how could he not, but then he was never meant to not know, to not feel the way Elias felt Jon’s lips twitch with the effort of remaining silent. A silence Elias broke as he fell back into himself, groaning around Jon’s cock and drawing that suppressed sound from him.

Elias pulled Jon’s trousers down further, letting them pool at his ankles, before setting his hands on Jon’s thighs. His thumbs stroked gently over the sensitive skin while his hold remained firm, catching even the lightest stutters of Jon’s hips as he teased the underside of his cock with his tongue. He drew back far enough to leave all but the head exposed, tasting the first beads of precome.

“Elias,” Jon gasped, taking a few deep breaths as he tried to find his voice. “Can you— can you do that again? What you did before…”

Elias nodded before letting his mind push back into Jon’s, feeling his shudder from within and shivering pleasantly in response. But there was more he shared, this time. The weight of the cock on his tongue as he drew Jon in deeper again, the tension in the muscles beneath his hand. He let Jon feel his worshipful joy of kneeling on the hardwood floor for his Archivist, the sweet ache of his own erection still confined in his slacks.

And most gladly, he shared the delight of hearing Jon moan his name and beg, the feedback loop cresting ever higher between them. In return, he eagerly accepted everything Jon offered, the heat that rushed through his veins and the pleasure sharpened by Elias’s fingers digging into his thighs. The sensations guided him as he let the tension ebb away with teasing little licks across the hard length, only to push Jon closer to the brink when he took him in deep again. And when Jon finally tipped over the edge, his bliss shuddered through Elias’s core.

He drew back slowly, taking a few moments to enjoy the sight before him as Jon sank into the cushions, his flushed chest bowing outwards with deep breaths, his cock soft and spent between his still open legs. The lines that Elias had scored into the flesh of his thighs made his own skin tingle in response.

When he rose, Jon barely reacted, still dazed and sated on the sofa, eyes following Elias lazily as he removed his clothing and set it neatly aside, before doing the same to Jon’s shoes and trousers. The shirt he left simply unbuttoned, rather enjoying the debauched look it gave Jon, and enjoying even more the deep knot of scar tissue that was revealed when it momentarily slipped from one shoulder. When Elias held out a hand for him, he took it eagerly, letting Elias pull him to his feet and nuzzling Elias’s neck as Elias enfolded him in his arms, inhaling the scent of his sweat-damp hair, while his fingers went to that scar on Jon’s shoulder, drawing the violence from it as Jon shivered and pressed closer. Lingering for a moment in that fragile peace, the connection still resonating between them, contentment undercut by his own pressing need.

The feeling was enough to prompt Jon to draw back, lips parting in a question Elias cut off with his fingers, sliding them into Jon’s mouth. He made a noise of surprise, but began to suck quite obligingly, while Elias ground their hips together, rubbing his cock against Jon’s skin. Startling another sound from Jon as he brushed Jon’s still sensitive cock with his leg.

He pulled his fingers free, enjoying the way Jon followed them until his eyes widened and he ducked his head. How sweet he was, even as he had become, lips parted with an eager curiosity, a beautiful expectation as Elias lifted his chin, bringing their lips together while his fingers drifted lower, pressing into Jon’s hole.

When Jon tensed, nails digging hard into Elias’s bicep, he opened their connection wider, and brought his lips to Jon’s again, tongue slipping inside Jon’s mouth to trace his tongue, echoes of old promises passing between them. It was enough to make Jon go momentarily slack, and allow Elias to push inside him. As he came back to himself, he gasped, clutching Elias harder but not pulling away. Shuddering as Elias rubbed his prostate lightly, then withdrew.

More than he anticipated must have passed along the connection between them, because it was Jon who pressed him back onto the sofa, his cock already hardening again, much to Elias’s delight.

“The benefits of youth. And quite exceptional even for that.” He reached for Jon’s cock, and laughed softly as his hand was slapped aside, a sound that turned into a moan as Jon slid lower and took Elias’s cock into his mouth.

Elias leaned back against the armrest, almost leisurely, if it weren’t for the electricity sparking along his spine as Jon’s lips slid along his cock. He kept his hips still, gripping the back of the sofa firmly while keeping his hand in Jon’s hair relaxed, not so much guiding his movements as observing them through touch.

At first, Jon simply copied Elias’s actions from before, but soon he grew bolder, drawing away to caress Elias’s cock with his tongue, tilting his head to kiss along its length with beautifully reddened lips. The angle allowed Elias to look him in the eyes, half-lidded as they were, until Jon noticed him watching so intently. Jon exhaled a hitching breath against Elias’s cock, making Elias dig his fingers into the cushions to still his trembling.

“You look lovely like this.” Elias trailed down the side of his face to cup his cheek, relishing the flush of warmth he felt beneath his fingertips, sighing when Jon took him in his mouth again, enveloping him in soft heat. Elias traced a finger along the concave of his hollowed cheek before grabbing his hair again, giving enough of a twist that Jon moaned around his cock. Jon followed the pull of his hand, extending the tip of his tongue, cradling the head of Elias’s cock before releasing it fully.

“Come here,” Elias murmured, sitting up and pulling Jon closer, coaxing him to straddle his lap as Jon braced himself on his shoulders. He stroked along Jon’s thighs, to give himself a few more moments to calm himself, though that did not lessen his enjoyment of Jon’s impatience, the way his hips twitched forward, grinding his cock against Elias. Jon’s legs trembled when Elias grasped his thighs, thumbs pressing into his buttocks as he pulled him upwards, releasing one hand to position himself beneath Jon.

“Elias,” Jon said, making a small, pained noise as Elias slowly pulled him down onto his cock. The vocalization was enough to make him stop, to make him wait, watching as Jon adjusted himself in Elias’s grip, eyelids fluttering for a moment before locking eyes with Elias again. “Don’t stop. I can take it. I want to— I want to see.”

His hands tightened on Elias’s shoulders, digging in with bruising force. A pain Elias welcomed, just as Jon savoured the slight burn when Elias pulled him down, his cock buried deep inside. Then he took a moment to memorize the sight before him. The wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt, damp with sweat, the fabric gently waving as Jon struggled to stay still. How it brushed Jon’s now fully hard cock, the slightest touch of it enough to make Jon clench around him, gasping and biting his lip. The way he leaned his head into Elias’s hand when Elias cupped his cheek, brushing a thumb under his bright, beautiful eyes. Eyes that had not yet left Elias.

“Are you ready?”

Jon nodded, bracing himself for a shock that wouldn’t come. For as closely connected as they were now, opening to Jon was no more difficult than seeing, tying them ever closer as Elias thrust into him.

His vision doubled, and Jon gasped as the connection held. Elias felt Jon’s tongue dart out to lick his own lips, his body clenching again, and the drag as he slowly lifted himself, before coming down once more. He revelled in the feel of Jon around him, the sight of himself twinned with the sight of Jon, and underneath that a further echo, as Jon saw himself, as Jon felt what Elias felt, the heat building low and heavy, faster now between them.

“How long—” Jon’s hands slipped on Elias’s shoulders, and he fell against his chest. Remaining there as Elias stroked his hair, waiting for him to adjust to this strange new equilibrium between them. And he did adjust, as Elias knew he would, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as Jon pushed himself back up, and down onto Elias’s cock again.

“As long as you can bear,” Elias said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Jon’s eyes, fingers briefly obscuring his sight of himself.

Jon laughed softly, the sound breaking into another moan as he rolled his hips. “I’ll have to make it count, then.”

“You always do,” Elias said, and relished the pleasant shiver that ran down Jon’s back as if the sensation was his own.

Elias kept one anchoring hand on Jon’s hip while the other tightened in his hair, pulling Jon closer to press his mouth against his neck, feeling the eager flutter of his pulse where a bruise was already blooming. He moved just a little further down, just above his collarbone, holding him still enough that all Jon could do was roll his hips while Elias let him taste the joy of marking him and tasted Jon’s eagerness in turn, the undercurrent of excitement of retracing the sweet ache later in front of the mirror. But even the concept of later slipped away so easily in the ecstasy of the present.

“Please, Elias,” Jon moaned, his hands sliding to Elias’s shoulders again and gripping them tight in search of an outlet as he twitched his hips with increasing desperation. Elias loosened his hold just enough to allow Jon to move, gasping as he sank down onto his cock fully. Jon leaned back for more leverage, allowing Elias to catch his gaze again. To hold it as the rhythm of Jon’s movements grew erratic, his cock leaking against Elias’s stomach.

Elias could feel Jon’s focus fracturing, the connection between them wavering, a length of rope he was desperately trying to hold on to even as it burned his hands. And then, just as it was about to slip out of his grasp, a wave of bliss washed over him. His own or Jon’s, he couldn’t even tell. In that moment, as the air around them was filled with the sound of their heavy breaths and rough whispers of their names, it didn’t really matter.

The wind still howled outside, but the silvery moonlight that shone in through the windows was unmistakable. Jon swayed under Elias’s hands, eyes unfocused, still caught in the now fading connection, going out like the tide. His gaze swung lazily to Elias, and he lifted a hand to reach for him, a small smile on his lips as Elias pulled him forward to rest against his chest. Jon tucked his head into Elias’s neck, his breath tickling the skin, slow and steady as the crash of the waves in the distance.

Elias pulled Jon closer still, arms tightening around him, fingers stroking his hair, to soak in a peace he had not felt in...no, that he’d never felt. A harmony, quieter now, that still wove around them, all barriers unravelled. With Jon, he could remake the world, find the freedom from terror, the freedom in terror that he had so long desired. And he would not do it alone.

His thoughts flowed into Jon’s mind, and Elias found he longer had the desire to stop them. Even as Jon tensed, and the question he asked rumbled through Elias’s core.

“What’s left? I’m not...I’m missing something. What is it?” He struggled against Elias’s grip, and Elias allowed it, letting him lay chest to chest, his eyes mere inches from Elias’s, staring as if that alone would pull the answer out.

And soon, it might. A day Elias found he desired more than he’d ever have expected when he’d first began this strange seduction. Not to simply use Jon, but to know him, to build with him a world where they would rule. Together.

* * *

The coffin sat in one of the larger storage rooms in the Archives, looking almost like it belonged there among the wooden boxes, coated in a thin layer of dust, streaked through with lines drawn by hopeful hands seeking to provide comfort, sentiments Elias could read as easily as a book. But even in the Institute, the place where he was closest to the Eye and suffused with its power, he couldn’t hope to gaze below the lid.

“It didn’t feel right to transfer it to Artefact Storage,” Jon said. “Not as long as there’s still a chance…” He trailed off with a sigh. “I couldn’t go inside without an anchor. And back then, I thought it would have to be a part of me.”

He leaned back against Elias, reaching for his hand. “So that’s all that’s left now?”

“Yes,” Elias replied, pressing a gentle kiss into his hair. “You need to journey into the Buried. And then return to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Jon closed his eyes, mind distant, falling deeper into himself. Looking for the answer struggling to emerge, the final piece to make him Elias’s in all ways. And to make Elias his. Jon entwined their fingers, briefly, allowed himself a moment to sink into Elias’s embrace. Then he stepped forward and turned his tape recorder on.

“Yes. I can find you again.”


End file.
